


Fuck you, Bill Cipher

by yoursatanboyfriend



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Human Bill Cipher, M/M, OOC Stanford Pines, The Ninth Paradigm AU, consider it a nightmare maybe? im thinking about it, experimental one shot really, sadistic ford if you like that kind of thing lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 16:59:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7942144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoursatanboyfriend/pseuds/yoursatanboyfriend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You don’t have it in you, Ford. Quit wasting my time, or I’m going to get angry.”</p><p>It’s only when Ford’s hands are tight tight around his neck, does Bill start to feel like he’s going to have a bad time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuck you, Bill Cipher

**Author's Note:**

> A one-shot experimental drabble that follows 'Say it isn’t so, Dipper!' and 'He’s not a gangster brobro, he’s a GangSTAR!', but set in an AU from…the AU. So not canon in my little Gangster AU.
> 
> To me, Ford’s intensely OOC. I don’t think he’s the type of man to do this hence why I consider it not really be a part of the official universe. It can actually pass for a nightmare Bill has so I will consider that. 
> 
> I'm going to Hell and I intend to deserve it. Feedback is appreciated!!

The boy’s naked, tied up spread-eagled on the bed, one fuck away from being fucked out. They’ve finished dressing and he leans down, lips at the boy’s ear: “I had a great time, kid. Don’t spend it all at once, okay?” he shoves _bills_ into the boy’s mouth, scatters a few on his chest. They leave laughing, imagining the look on the workers’ faces when they find the boy.

-Several years prior, the end of Dipper’s encounter with the man now called Bill Cipher.

* * *

 

Bill Cipher regretted very little in life- in fact, he never regretted _anything_. So of course, when Ford confronts him about a certain something in his past, Bill’s first thought is –

Who fucking cares?

* * *

 

Bill’s laughing when Ford slams him into the wall, the resulting force propelling him back towards his assailant only for the man to strike at him again. Weak punches for a weak man—but still, it was kind of _sexy_. Ford violent, sweaty and trying his best to be intimidating.

Bill has seen worse, and will see worse.

“My family! How _could_ you?”

“How could I _not_?” It wasn’t as if he’d even known Ford back then, anyway. The man was now just personalizing Bill’s regular actions. Really…How annoying. People were so dramatic—not that Bill was one to talk, mind you.

(and blaming Bill for the shit the kid got himself into? What was that about? It wasn’t _his_ fault the kid wasn’t cautious enough, wasn’t smart enough. Now Bill’s supposed to be feel guilty for some sucker he’d hustled? Guilt and him were not acquainted, and would never be. You got yourself fucked over and you had only yourself to blame.

And frankly, he resented his victims for being so god damn brainless and gullible. But hey, them lacking in the head department benefited him so who was he to really complain?)

Ford responds by throwing another feeble hit at Bill and Bill takes it laughing, “Ford Ford. You’re just getting me _excited_.”

“Do you even know the damage you’ve done? Can you even imagine that for the rest of his life, Dipper will—“

“Be in therapy?” Bill snarks, and Ford responds by gripping his shirt and lifting him up off the ground.

“And Mabel—"

“Was one of the best fucks I’ve ever had. The woman of my dreams even.”

Ford pushes his entire body against Bill, they’re so close now, face to face, and Bill licks his lips: “ _Jealous_? Jealous it wasn’t you the one getting fucked?”

“You’re poison, Bill. You’ve somehow—somehow seeped into every corner of my life—"  Melodramatic floral metaphor bullshit. Bill rolls his eyes.

“You gotta suck poison out the wound, Ford. I can think of a _few_ things I want to see you suck—haven’t I been telling you that since day one?”  Bill caresses the hands supporting him with his own, his touches insidious with enticement. “Come on, I tried fucking you the second time we met, was ready to fuck you _crying_ and you’re surprised at my past?”

He tugged at Ford’s grey curls playfully. “How dense _are_ you?”

Ford growls and with a hard throw, sends Bill flying to the floor; but Bill recovers quickly, standing up, unaffected, readjusting his clothes as though this entire thing had been a minor inconvenience. “Well, that was uneventful—" he doesn’t finish because Ford has somehow pushed him down, head first, onto the nearby table. The man is fumbling with Bill’s pants—oh, so _this_ was where Ford was leading to? Interesting. _Very_ interesting.

“Are you really going to teach me the error of my ways by acting exactly like me?” Bill drawls and Ford only tells him to shut up. His hand is in Bill’s pants now, feeling? Jesus, the man had no clue how this worked.

“If you’re gonna correct me with a good fucking, you don’t jerk me off, genius.” Ford hesitates at the words and moves onto pulling Bill’s pants down. His fingers waver near Bill’s entrance, and it’s obvious he doesn’t really want to do this.

“Following your logic, once you fuck me, I get to repay the favour, yeah?” Ford doesn’t reply, and being ignored irritates Bill more than any of Ford’s other current actions. Still ignoring Bill, he attempts inserting a finger into him, but stops prematurely.

Sigh, what a doormat.

Bill doesn’t fight back at all, far too curious to see how far Ford will go. If it gets out of hand, he can easily put a stop to it, having far more experience than the other man. Now, how far would Ford _actually_ go? Looks like he was already chickening out--

He pushes away from Bill, saying “Don’t move.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Fordsy.”

 _Now_ he was really intrigued. When Ford returned, Bill immediately felt something cold being rubbed near his entrance, with a finger eventually entering cautiously. The digit moved in and out shyly, exploring Bill internally. His body reacts by grinding and wiggling, encouraging more—because why the fuck not? 

“Did you really go fetch fucking lube?” Bill laughs. “Ford, come on. Are we _making love_?”

“I don’t want to get stuck.”

Bill thinks Ford’s pretty smart for an alleged virgin, but he has no clue that rough fucking never involves getting stuck because it’s always at utter disregard for the one getting fucked.

Another finger slides in, Ford’s pace is slow and gentle—doesn’t feel bad at all. It’s been a long time since Bill’s been on the receiving end. Pride didn’t allow it anymore.

Bill struggles, manoeuvres one of his hands to his crotch, gripping his own length. It’s pretty hard, and with exaggerated vigorous stroking movements, he moans “Oh Ford, _don’t stop_.” It took everything in him to not erupt with laughter. This whole thing was a fucking joke.

Ford responds by pushing both fingers in right up to the knuckle and Bill nearly chokes on his own spit. There’s now a scissoring motion, Ford trying to spread him open and Bill feels himself becoming angry. He might just end up killing Ford today.

The fingers suddenly curl cruelly and Bill clenches, thinks Ford is discovering the sadist in him when he feels the fingers begin to twist in ways only meant to hurt.

“Finally getting to explore your sick fantasies huh?” Ford doesn’t reply.

He might _really_ end up killing Ford today.

Still, he feels no need to fight back just yet. But didn’t curiosity kill the cat? (satisfaction brought it back, they say.)

Sensing the sudden tension in Bill’s body beneath him, Ford applies insistent pressure at the base of Bill’s neck, ensuring the boy can’t run away. Because at the end of the day, he’s stronger than Bill-- larger too; Bill had height over him but Ford had mass. Simply putting his body weight against Bill would do the trick.

The sudden heaviness against his back—and Bill feels something else. Panic? No, that’s not it. As if he would ever panic over this. Ford is still finger-fucking him—no more curling, just plain thrusting—and now he’s entered a third finger. Bill is sure the main event would be coming soon.

“I have a mouth you know, Ford. Did you know your—or rather _my_ — Dipper gives great head? Thought I’d put to test what I learnt watching his pretty mouth around my dick.“ One pissed off Ford coming right up.

It works, and a fourth finger goes in almost immediately. But— It’s _too much_. His breathing becomes uneven, his body attempting to worm itself forward to escape the intrusion- but there’s nowhere to go. Ford’s done a good job at securing him down. With no other options, his body stiffens involuntarily, clenching tighter this time, as if it thinks it can expel the foreign objects through sheer force alone.

Ford’s fingers fuck him, leisurely at first- fours a lot and Bill’s body is resisting, but gradually they stop caring, going in and out viciously with spite; Bill can feel it hollowing him out with every prod. Despite it, he can tell Ford is cautious with his fingernails, and he thinks it’s _so cute_ the man would brutalize him with pseudo tenderness.

He feels heated breath in his ear, “Do you want to take my fist, Bill?”

 **No**. Fuck no. No. No.      

The invasive fingers retract from him, and fuck, Ford was joking right? He isn’t going to jam his fucking fist inside him, is he? Four was already too much-- and the man had 6 fucking fingers!

No, he couldn’t take that, no way he could take that.

He feels large bump against his entrance, and he knows it’s Ford’s fist—this is a joke, right? Oh God, there’s no way—and then Ford starts _laughing_.

“I think if I fuck you hard enough, Bill, you might be able to take my fist.” Ford digs nails into Bill’s hips and he muses, “You’re sweating. Terrified I’m going to stick my entire hand in you, Bill? Didn’t you tell me once upon a time you liked my six fingers?”

This fucking man was testing him. Thinks he can scare Bill fucking Cipher?

“This your attempt at mentally fucking me? I kinda _like it_ , Stanford.” Defiance coated each of his words; he wanted Ford to hear exactly how much of a fuck he _didn’t give_.

Because no one scares Bill Cipher.

But enough was enough. Ford had had his fun and it was time to—

Then with both hands on Bill’s shoulders( a grip so hard and possessive, he should’ve _known_ what was coming) without warning, Ford thrusts into Bill and the boy instinctively reaches back, gripping grasping _clawing_ pathetically at Ford’s shirt. Desperate pushes against the other do nothing—absolutely nothing. He’s not even thinking, it just happens, he starts to struggle shamelessly- his body acting on its own— and it’s just _happening_.

Ford is fucking him and—

Wait **wait** wait _wait_ wait, when—how had it come this far?

No, fuck. This—it’s too soon. It happened too soon— his body freaks, trying to close itself only to end up practically holding the man inside. Ford’s breathing is louder now, deeper. And more…satisfied?

Ford’s thrusts are slow and deliberate; he pulls Bill onto him while pushing into Bill and Bill—using his hands to steady himself— is at a loss for words. When the fuck had this happened? He hadn’t even—what? _What_?

A hand abandons his shoulders, taking his hair, and Ford gives a slightly harder thrust. There was still reluctance in his movements but barely; he was becoming more confident, more aggressive— and so very eager to get deep inside Bill. It was a 180, a full fucking 180 degree turn.

“Does it still feel good, Bill?”

What…?

And it happens so quickly (everything seems to happen so quickly, so horribly quickly), Ford pulls out, flips Bill over and in quick movement pushes back in. Bill is shocked, so shocked, he doesn’t—

“I want to see your face when I fuck you. Look at me.” It barely sounds like Ford anymore. But he looks and confirms, it is in fact, Ford. Stanford Pines. Stanford Filbrick Pines. Looks like Ford, sounds like Ford—only the face is hard, and a little flushed.

Revenge made demons of men- where had he heard that? Had he even heard it? Or had he just made it up on the spot? His mind isn’t clear or coherent— there’s a Bill inside his head screaming profanities, yelling about being defiled(?). But Bill was already dirty, and you couldn’t further stain what was a stain in itself.

If anything, Bill was the one tainting, sullying and tarnishing Ford. He’d turned a good man into… _this_ (but that’s debatable isn’t it? Ford had the potential, Bill unlocked it – so how good was Ford _really_ if he was capable of _this_?)

His weight is on Bill, and shit, he’s heavy—with his nose now in Bill’s neck, ragged breathing. Ford licks his ear and—what? Was this _really_ Ford?

Had the man been watching some hardcore porn shit? This didn’t seem real. Pushing at Ford did nothing, fuck, the guy weighed more than Bill had realized.

And the words just start pouring out, variations of ‘I’m going to fucking kill you, Ford.’ But they don’t sound threatening? It sounds like he enjoys it? And he can feel Ford getting into it, sets a rhythm, hot breath and grunting—you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

He’d been too over-confident and had underestimated Ford. Arrogance always bit him in the ass, and now it was fucking him—literally. He aims for Ford’s eyes and the man grabs the offending hand, then grabs both hands and holds them over Bill’s head. _Ah shit._

He should’ve reached for his knife.

Ford frees a hand, clutches Bill’s neck, tightly- an uncompromising kind of tight. “Without your gun, you can’t do anything, can you? You can’t fight me at all.”

Oh, dirty talk, was it? Bill nearly laughs but terror, full and throbbing in his throat, stops him. What is he scared of? Ford killing him? Was it a survival instinct, this fear? No, no, he was well-acquainted with _that_ fear. This fear, however…

“That what you like, Ford? A little bit of fight?” Somehow, he manages to say it without sounding _too_ pitiful.

Ford’s going harder now, and he knows something’s torn in him because the pain comes at him sharp and burning. Hell, that could happen even if you went slow and gentle—but who fucking cared because Ford had switched gears completely. The intrusion steadily becoming brutal and what’s the expression? Fucked like a piece of meat? Ford is close to that—Bill can only take it. _Why?_

He keeps his empty smile on his face though, glues it tightly—no satisfaction will be given to Ford. None none none.

Too bad he didn’t bring his gun with him today. Too bad.

_Woulda, coulda shoulda._

But actually, he’s _plenty_ dangerous even without his gun, and he’ll teach Ford that as soon as the opportunity presents itself. And it would present itself. Soon. He knows it will. Soon.

Ford doesn’t seem content yet with how he’s hurting Bill. It’s not enough. Not enough for the damage he’d done to the Pines family—not fucking enough.

The hand comes off his throat, moves up—both hands take one of Bill’s wrist, and with barely any effort at all, snap it. Crack crack CRACK.  (When did Ford get so strong? Adrenaline?)

Bill screams and it’s been such a long time since he’s ever screamed like this. He barely recognized the sound.

No no if Ford snaps his other hand, he can’t use his knife—but luckily, the man decides one broken wrist was enough. Seems he loves Bill’s screaming, because he tries to bury himself further into the boy, with a feral feverish need. Bill suddenly thinks of the expression ‘balls deep’ because he can hear skin against skin and Ford wasn’t holding back.  
Ford forces fingers into his mouth, growls “Suck” and Bill does, pretending he likes it, he wants it. Like this whole thing is just some elaborate sex game to him, that he doesn’t hate it.

Because Ford will not get that satisfaction.

Fingers retreat from his mouth, a trail of drool left in its wake, and Ford pants “Beg for me to stop, Bill.”

Oh fuck off, Ford.

Breathless now, Ford keeps at it, words laced in cold venom, “You want me to _stop_ , don’t you? Say it, Bill. Admit it. Beg _me_ to stop. I want to hear you _beg_ —beg for it. Beg for me to stop.”

But Bill is immune, or thinks he’s immune.

(thinks if he begs Ford to stop, the man will just fuck him _harder-_ give it to him like he gave it to Dipper, and relish in the fact he's _taking_ something from Bill)

“Fuck me harder, Ford. Is this really the best you can do? Maybe we—we should switch places and I’ll show how you to fuck.” God, his voice comes out clearly terrified. Masking fright was easier when you weren’t getting fucked to the point of being delirious.

But he isn’t delirious. Is he?

A special thrust comes his way- by the strength of it, he knows Ford’s punishing him- and he bites his lip to keep himself from accidentally making the wrong noise. That was life, wasn’t it? Hurting yourself so you didn’t say or do the wrong thing.

“Hey—hey Ford, you know, when I fucked your little nephew—bet he never told you this—but boy, did he love it. I fucked him good and he **loved** it. ” Ford retaliates by tearing at Bill’s hair, using it as leverage and giving a thrust so hard, Bill thinks he can see premonitions of his future.

He would need hospital attention, after this. He knows it.

(in his mind, somewhere _somewhere_ , he's begging Ford for mercy)

Ford’s right arm goes under Bill’s neck and curls as he moves close in, an intimate embrace that is entirely out of place, and he can tell Ford is close to finishing because he’s speeding up and the pain just blurs, mashing into one big visceral compilation featuring the greatest hits of aching, tearing and fucking. He might be bleeding too, he probably is. He definitely is.

(is he too quiet? should he start moaning? make sure Ford thinks he _really_ is having the _time of his life_?)

Ford finishes inside him and, incredibly, is not yet tired. He grabs Bill by the hair, pulls him down onto his knees, forces himself into Bill’s mouth; it’s wet and disgusting, bloody very bloody (his blood?)— Bill bites down hard. A prompt punch is dealt and he spits out blood on the floor, struggles to stand and spits into Ford’s face.

And again, Ford wrestles him down, so easily?

The man is pushing into him again, but no one can go so quickly afterwards? He’s dreaming, right? He’ll wake up—he’ll wake up and he won’t be face down, ass up, with Ford’s hand at the back of his head, pushing him down into the carpet—because fuck, it’s hurting, it’s _really hurting_ and he hasn’t been hurt like this—in so long?

Despite all of this, he’s laughing, because it’s how he’s always dealt with this sort of thing—he’s laughing and he knows it makes Ford angry because Ford is _just not stopping_. He tells Ford he loves it—he hates it—he tells Ford not to stop – _stop, Ford oh god stop I’m sorry?_ —he tells Ford he’s wanted this since the beginning- and he’s lying, and he can’t stop lying. (can never stop fucking lying)

Because he won’t give Ford the satisfaction of knowing he’s hurt Bill Cipher. No one would ever be allowed that.

Ford fucked him _two_ more times before he got the knife into Ford’s throat.

 


End file.
